Mistakes and Misunderstandings
by Tinderbox Lily
Summary: Francis' idiocy results in certain complications, which mean that he has to temporarily stay with Arthur; unsurprisingly, romance ensues. But when Francis' former lover turns up uninvited, everything starts to go wrong. FrUK, of course. AU
1. Chapter 1

A/N - So, I wrote this fic for my friend, 'cause she's obsessed with Hetalia, and in particular FrUK :) Reviews and constructive criticism are very much appreciated !

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><p>It was mid-afternoon, and sheaves of unfinished documents were piled around Arthur's desk, blocking what feeble sunlight had broken through the thick clouds. He sighed and reached for his tea, deciding to relax for a few precious minutes.<p>

A warm arm draped round Arthur's shoulders, and a husky whisper announced the entirely unwelcome visitor.

'Bonjour,_ mon amour_. Did you miss me?'

Arthur took a deep breath and just barely succeeded in suppressing the shiver that ran through him. That voice, the ridiculous way the stranger had announced his arrival - there was only one person who behaved like that. For the umpteenth time, Arthur had to wonder why a rich French businessman would bother to visit him so often.

'Get off, Francis. And no, of course I didn't. Who would?'

The Frenchman was unfazed, and smirked in that irritating way of his that seemed to say 'I-know-you're-lying-and-you-can't-convince-me-otherwise'. His lips ghosted over Arthur's neck, leaving a burning blush in their wake.

'That reaction would say otherwise.'

Arthur growled, and gripped his mug more firmly. 'Get off, unless you want this freshly boiled tea to become better acquainted with that face you're so proud of.'

Francis wound his arms tightly around Arthur. 'Ah, you are so naïve to think you can trick me. We both know you wouldn't waste your precious Earl Grey, even on me.'

'And we both also know that you wouldn't risk your precious good looks testing that theory.'

'Touché.' Francis stepped back, still smirking. 'I'll console myself with the fact that you admitted that I'm good looking.'

Arthur scowled. He berated himself; it hadn't been deliberate, but further inflating the Frenchman's ego was not a good move. 'Arrogant bastard.'

Francis laughed and sauntered off, radiating self-satisfaction.

Leaving Arthur to scowl at his tea and wish he could retain some small semblance of dignity where that stupid frog was concerned.

* * *

><p>Arthur was sitting in a small London cafe, trying and failing to concentrate on the newspaper clenched angrily in his hands. He hadn't seen Francis for a while, and although part of him was praising this unexpected good luck, part of him was worried about the idiot, maybe even missing him slightly.<p>

He blushed at the thought, and shook his head furiously, focussing desperately on the newspaper that had remained unread for some time now.

He had just finished the first sentence when Francis slid into the seat opposite him, pocketing a scrap of paper. Arthur knew it almost definitely had some girl's number scrawled across it in the idiot's ridiculously floral script. Torn between grinning and rolling his eyes at this typically Francis situation, Arthur instead ended up just staring.

Francis saw what he was looking at, and flashed his familiar smirk. 'Jealous,_ mon petit?_ After all, you English are rather lacking in charm. You wouldn't know romance if it kicked you in the -'

Arthur kicked him hard below the table and refused to dignify him with a response.

'You can pretend to be reading that newspaper as much as you want, _mon cher_, but I know you're listening.'

Closing the newspaper savagely, Arthur glared balefully at the Frenchman. 'What do you want now?'

Francis pretended to look hurt. 'Do I need an excuse to visit _mon ami_?'

'Yes. Especially if you plan on wasting my time as you always do.'

'Very well then.' With a flourish, Francis produced yet another batch of papers he would have to trawl through. Seeing Arthur's horrified expression, he laughed. 'You're so gullible! As if I'd be entrusted with your important documents.'

'Sod off,' Arthur said irritably.

'When I only just got here? _Non_.' He beckoned to the waitress, a pretty blonde who blushed and hurried over. 'Coffee. Black, and brew it strong, _s'il vous plait_.'

Arthur rolled his eyes and continued reading his paper as the Frenchman proceeded to flirt shamelessly.

Eventually the waitress wandered off, and Francis poked Arthur annoyingly.

He sighed and closed his newspaper. 'You've finished, then?'

'_Oui_. Now to business. I need a favour, _mon cher_.'

Arthur narrowed his eyes. 'What sort of favour?'

'Just a very small one. It would help me, immensely.'

'How small?'

'Very. All I need is to stay -'

'No.' Arthur's chair scraped back as he scrambled to his feet, horrified. 'Not in a million years. Not if you paid me. _Never_.'

The Frenchman looked wounded. 'But, _mon cher_, you don't even know what I was going to ask you!'

'I can guess, and I'm telling you, it will never, _never_ happen.'

Francis pouted. '_Mais_, you do not understand. I am a fugitive in my own land! I was desperate, you are the only one I can turn to.' He looked pleadingly at Arthur, gripping his coat sleeve with an air of desperation.

Arthur looked back sullenly. Then he sighed. 'What did you do?'

Quickly glancing around, Francis leant forward conspiratorially. 'There was a lady...'

Arthur sighed again. Of course it was a woman. Trust Francis to get into trouble over his libido.

'Her fiancé was more important than I had thought, and he pulled some strings to get me banished from my homeland.' He sighed melodramatically. 'Will you not take pity on a poor, troubled friend?'

_Poor_. The word reminded Arthur of something, and he grinned happily. 'Why can't you just buy a house here? You have the money, and that way, you wouldn't have to share my tiny flat!'

Francis paused fractionally, then said, 'My bank accounts have been frozen. I have very little money, not enough to live on for more than a few months.'

Despite how annoying the stupid frog was, Arthur couldn't help but feel sorry for him. After all, he too had been penniless for a while, and it hadn't been a good experience. He decided to take pity on him.

'Alright then. You can stay with me.'

Francis' face lit up, and he began babbling in an irritating mixture of French and English. 'Oh, _mon amour_, you cannot _comprends_ how much you have _rassur__é__-moi! J'__étais si effrayé, _I will not forget this Arthur! I -'

'Yes, yes, I get it, you're relieved. Now can you please just _be quiet_? You're giving me a headache.'

Francis nodded and put a finger to his lips, as if to silence them. Then he leant forward and lightly kissed Arthur's forehead.

Arthur squawked in a way that could not by any stretch be construed as dignified, feeling a blush set his face on fire. 'Wh-What the hell was that for, you bloody frog?'

'You said you had a headache, _mon cher,_ I was just kissing it better!' Francis said, grinning and looking extremely pleased with himself.

'Do you want to stay with me or not?' Arthur growled.

Francis eeped and managed to look contrite, and Arthur nodded in satisfaction. At least now he had some way to control the French bastard. He could do this. Even Francis couldn't be _that_ annoying, right?

Wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N - Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Except for that one anonymous reviewer who was a tad rude... Sorry, but I don't plan on dying too soon. (And I'm pretty sure you can't die more than once.) Anyways, to those of you who _weren't_ repulsed, here's the second chapter :)

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><p>The next morning, when Arthur woke and stumbled blearily into the kitchen, he was momentarily pleasantly surprised. His guest had actually bothered to make himself useful, and was flipping pancakes with much more skill than Arthur could ever hope to achieve.<p>

'Ah, you are awake at last. You know, _mon cher,_ for such a small person, you snore quite impressively loudly.'

Arthur scowled at the double insult, and said belligerently, 'Why are you poncing around in my kitchen?'

Francis laughed and looked much too pleased with himself. 'I tease, _mon petit._ I tease. And I would have thought it is clear what I am doing, Arthur. I am cooking.'

'I can feed myself, you know.'

He smirked. 'I never said you couldn't. But you are English, and I am French. You should know by now that our cuisine is infinitely superior; you have neither the skill nor the panache that we do.' Noticing Arthur's growing irritation, the Frenchman hastily added, 'Besides, I owe you for allowing me to stay with you. Until I can _améliorer _my situation, allow me to repay you by preparing your meals. Surely it would be nice to experience some real, fine cooking?'

'English cooking is good,' Arthur said defensively.

'Of course it is,' Francis said soothingly. 'But it would save you time, would it not? And it would give me something to do. Imagine, if I was bored, I'd have to come bother you at work or something.'

Shuddering, Arthur nodded. 'Alright then, you bloody frog. But if you give me food poisoning...'

Francis laughed and handed him a plate.

'Never, _mon amour_.'

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><p>Arthur stumbled through the door, tired after his hard day at work, and stared around in horror.<p>

He shook his head, hardly able to believe he'd only yesterday thought that Francis couldn't be all that annoying. He remembered the sense of satisfaction he'd felt in the cafe, when he'd thought he would be able to control Francis with the threat of eviction, and laughed hollowly at his own naïvety.

'Arthur, _mon amour_, are you alright?' The Frenchman hovered over him, blue eyes looking almost concerned.

He laughed again.

Arthur's beautiful, English apartment had been...

Frenchified.

'Why are you laughing? Forgive me, but you sound mildly insane.'

Arthur ignored him. 'It's a dream, right? Just a dream,' he said weakly.

Francis tapped him on the head with his ladle.

_'Mon cher?'_

That's when Arthur finally snapped.

'Dear god, Francis! What have you _done_? There's all those fancy herbs and spices in the kitchen, you've replaced my kettle with a coffee maker, there are bloody croissants in the bloody fridge and stupid dead flowers in the bathroom and _why in the name of all that's holy is a sodding French flag hanging in my living room_?'

Francis stared back unflinchingly into Arthur's green eyes, seemingly unfazed by his blazing anger, and said just one word.

'Potpourri.'

Arthur stared uncomprehendingly.

'What in the name of arse is potpourri?' He spat.

'Those 'stupid dead flowers', as you so eloquently put it, are called potpourri.'

Arthur sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands. He was dead on his feet; this was most definitely _not_ what he needed. 'But why would you do such a thing?'

Francis looked at Arthur like he was an imbecile. 'Because your home was so... So English! It had no romantic touches, no French charm!'

'Of course it didn't! I'm English, I liked my flat the way it was before, not looking like some bloody Frenchman's home!'

'But Arthur, _mon petit!_ That is exactly what your flat is!'

'What?'

'I am a Frenchman. I live in this flat. Therefore, this is a Frenchman's home!'

Temporarily floored by this logic, Arthur was silenced.

'Oh... Well, I suppose.. Alright then. You can keep your French rubbish. But not the flag! And don't hurt my teapot.'

'Ah,_ merci beaucoup!'_

'Now help me up,' he said grumpily.

Francis grinned and pulled the smaller man into his arms.

Arthur yelped and began struggling, but the Frenchman simply tugged him closer. Tired as he was, Arthur couldn't be bothered to fight the Frenchman's persistence. He stopped resisting and relaxed into the hug.

It was better than he'd expected.

Francis was warm and comfortable, and he smelled inexplicably of lilies. One of his hands rested gently but firmly on the small of Arthur's back, and the other was softly stroking his hair. His breath was warm on Arthur's neck, and this time he couldn't repress a soft shiver.

'Cold?' Francis murmured, and Arthur didn't have to look to see the predatory gaze.

'No,' he said defensively. 'I mean, yes.'

Why was it so hard to think straight when he was this close to Francis? It was so frustrating that this stupid frog had such an effect on him, that simply by being next to him Arthur was unable to think of anything else.

Francis laughed softly, and Arthur felt it hum across his bare skin.

He felt himself blush, and yawned as realistically as he could. 'Well, it's been a long day, and some of us have to be up early, so I'm going to bed. 'Night, Francis!'

Francis didn't move for a moment, then he turned his head slightly and kissed the shell of Arthur's ear.

Too surprised for coherency, Arthur just blushed even more intensely, bringing his hand up to touch where he'd just been kissed. Francis stepped away slightly and smirked down at him in satisfaction.

'Good night, _mon amour. Fais de beaux rêves_.'

Then he turned and walked away, leaving Arthur to wonder what the hell everything meant.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - The bet later on this chap is basically an idea shamelessly stolen from marinoa's fic, 'The night of the hunter', which you should all read (if you haven't already) because it is AWESOME.

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><p>Arthur woke up early, the bright morning light falling straight across his pillow where he'd forgotten to draw the curtains. He groaned and went over to close them, pounding headache worsening with every step.<p>

He crawled back under the covers, but it was no use. Although he was still exhausted, sleep had been ripped away from him and no matter how hard he tried, Arthur couldn't slip back into Dreamland.

Eventually he gave up and headed for the kitchen to get a drink. Francis was already there, humming all-too-cheerfully as he cooked.

'Good morning,_ mon petit!'_ He said brightly.

Arthur winced at how loud he was, and scowled as his head thumped painfully.

'Well, more like good afternoon. You've slept nearly the whole day away!'

Arthur's only response was an incoherent grunt of pain.

'Ah, sorry _mon cher_.' Francis' voice dropped to a loud whisper. 'I've made breakfast - lunch, really. It should be good for your hangover.'

Arthur went over to the table and pulled out his chair, wondering whether it was scraping across the floor deliberately loudly to spite him. In front of him was a full English breakfast and a glass of orange juice.

Francis sat down opposite him and handed him another drink. 'It's a Bloody Mary.'

Arthur groaned. 'Urgh, no. I'm not drinking anything alcoholic ever again. I'll make some tea.'

'I thought you'd say that, _mon cher_. I've already put the kettle on.'

'Thanks,' he said gratefully, sipping the juice.

With a rush of guilt, Arthur remembered how he'd behaved yesterday. He had to apologise. 'Um, about yesterday...' he said tentatively.

Francis glanced up at him, surprise written across his face. 'What about it?'

'Well, I... The way I behaved, what I said. It was... Abominable. You've been nothing but kind to me, and I...'

Francis held back a laugh. 'Honestly, _mon petit_, I don't mind at all. You were drunk, I'm not going to hold you responsible. I should be the one apologising for hitting you - there was a mark on your face yesterday.'

Arthur's mind flashed back to what Francis had done just before they went to bed, when he'd reached out and then dropped his hand at the last second. Had he done that because he'd felt guilty?

'For good reason! I deserved it. And even if you say that it doesn't matter, I still want to apologise. You have every right to be mad, but instead you've helped me with everything.' Arthur took a deep breath, and hoped he wouldn't regret what he was going to say too much. 'I've always complained about how ungentlemanly you are, what with your irresponsible flirtatiousness -'

'Hey!'

'- but as it stands, I'm the one who hasn't been behaving like a gentleman. I'm ashamed of myself. So believe me when I say I'm truly very sorry.'

Francis smiled brilliantly, and like yesterday Arthur felt that strange feeling that was half happiness, half something-else, and his heartbeat raced like the wings of a bird in flight.

_'Merci, mon amour.'_

Arthur concentrated fixedly on his orange juice, and for a while silence hung over them.

'_Alors_. You will be having some free time for a while, _oui?'_

Arthur nodded warily.

'Then it's perfect! Since I'm stuck in London indefinitely, you can show me around. Sightseeing is always better when you're with someone who knows the city,_ n'est pas?'_

It was actually a surprisingly good idea. Recently Arthur hadn't had enough free time to go anywhere very far from his flat, and he'd missed just getting on a bus or train and going wherever. And it was much better than just staying inside moping.

'Yeah, why not?'

Francis grinned. '_D'accord_. Once you've finished eating, let's go.'

Arthur nearly choked on his baked beans. 'So soon?'

'Well, _mon cher_, there's a lot to be seen. Presumably - maybe that's just what Paris is like. After all, London is quite a lot inferior...' Francis smirked, his eyes daring Arthur to prove otherwise.

'You wish. I promise that by the end of the month, I'll make you admit that London is better.'

Francis smirked. 'A whole month? _Mon cher_, I'll give you until the end of next week. And if not, you have to move to Paris.'

'Deal.' Arthur glared, and stuck out his hand. 'And if I do, _you_ have to move to London.'

'Absolutely,' Francis purred.

So they shook on it, Francis' hand soft and warm in his own.

It wasn't until later that Arthur understood Francis' triumphant smirk. He'd either be stuck with Francis forever, still in the exact same situation as before, or he'd be forced to leave his home and live in bloody France.

No wonder Francis had looked so satisfied; for Arthur, it was a lose-lose situation.

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><p>Despite Francis' grand plans for taking in the whole of London in one day, they ended up not going much further than a short walk. They arrived at the tube to find that the Circle line was down and there were delays on the District line. As a result, all of the buses were overcrowded, and while he felt a lot better for having eaten Francis' hangover-curing breakfast, Arthur was still slightly off-colour and definitely not ready to face so much noise.<p>

Francis quickly noticed this, and pointed out that since Arthur was still feeling bad, it probably wasn't the best idea to wander the bustling London streets. He asked to go somewhere quiet instead. In the end, they just went to a cafe and chatted over numerous cups of tea (or in Francis' case, coffee).

They talked for hours, and as they talked, Arthur quickly realised that it was strange how close you could be to someone without really knowing them at all. He'd known Francis for over a year now, and they'd been living together for the past few days.

But before now, Arthur had never really thought about the Frenchman as anything other than a slightly annoying, slightly perverted friend. He'd never considered his family, his life in Paris, his likes and dislikes...

With an unpleasant lurch, he realised that their only contact was through work. Once Francis sorted out his banishment, he'd return home. And now that Arthur didn't have a job...

'Francis, when do you think you'll be able to return to France?'

Francis looked offended. 'You're that desperate to be rid of me, _mon petit?'_

'No, it's not that... I mean...' He trailed off.

Francis raised an elegant eyebrow.

'Well... We only saw each other before because you came here on business, right? And now that I'm out of a job...'

'Are you saying you would miss me?' Francis smirked and leant forwards, close enough that Arthur could smell the bitter sweet mix of lilies and coffee.

Arthur took a hasty sip of his tea to hide the blush and nearly choked on the scalding liquid. 'I doubt it, but just in case. Actually, probably not. But I wouldn't want to risk it, even though it's only a tiny chance.'

Francis' grin widened. 'Too defensive,_ mon cher_. You give yourself away. But don't worry - when I used to come to London, it wasn't usually for business.'

'Then why did you come?'

'Guess,' Francis purred.

Arthur's heart skipped, but he knew this was almost certainly just Francis' innate French flirtatiousness. 'Of course, I can understand why you'd get bored in Paris. London really is a whole lot better.'

'You know that isn't it, _mon amour._'

Arthur stood abruptly. 'It's getting late. We really should be going.'

By the time they left the sun had dipped low on the horizon, tangling in the branches of trees.

Arthur yawned.

'Tired?'

'Yeah. It's been a good day.'

Francis slung his arm around Arthur and winked. 'I know how we can make it even better,_ mon cher.'_

Arthur's face flamed, and the Frenchman laughed. 'Bloody frog...' He muttered.

Ever the egoist, Francis ignored this blatant rejection and quickly kissed Arthur on the cheek. Of course, Arthur shoved him away automatically, but moments later he realised something with a dawning sense of horror.

What he'd felt when Francis kissed him hadn't been disgust, exasperation, or anything that was at all similar.

It had been something completely different; something warm, something expectant.

It had been longing.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N - I have no idea what Scotland's name in APH is, so I gave him the incredibly original name of 'Scott'. If anyone knows, then feel free to correct me! If not, he doesn't really have an important part (so far), so it doesn't really matter :D

A/N2 - Sorry, it's a bit of a filler chapter because my brain has decided to go on holiday for a while. After all, it is Good Friday… Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, Fleet Street really is that totally awesome. Honest. *nerd moment*

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><p>The next day, Arthur was woken by Francis' lips on his own.<p>

'Ah! Sleeping beauty awakes!' Francis grinned.

'What the- Why the bloody hell did you do that, you French bastard?' Arthur sputtered, definitely not thinking about how soft and how _right_ Francis' lips had felt.

'Well, it was getting late and you weren't waking up!' Francis pouted. 'I tried poking you and shouting and everything, but you stayed stubbornly asleep!'

Arthur glared. 'Sure you did. So why is it important that I get up right now?'

Francis beamed and threw open the curtains. 'Ta-Da! Today, it is my first sunny day in England, _mon petit_. We are going on a _pique-nique!'_

Arthur stared out the window in astonishment. Francis was right - for once the sky was a clear and relatively cloudless blue, rather than grey and overcast as per usual.

'Miracles will never cease. All right then, but let's go soon, before the rain returns.'

'_Mon cher,_ you are too pessimistic. A day like this will not see rain!'

'You'd be surprised.' Arthur said darkly, choosing to ignore Francis' derisory snort. 'Well? Are you going to leave me to get dressed in peace?'

'Not if I don't have to.' Francis smirked and lay down on the bed expectantly.

Arthur threw his pillow at him. 'Now get out, before I throw something harder!'

Francis pouted. 'But, _mon cher!'_

Arthur picked up a book threateningly, and Francis fled. 'Sorry, Miéville. I would never have thrown you,' he whispered, putting the book back carefully. He got dressed quickly and stepped out into the kitchen to find Francis.

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><p>The weather was beautiful.<p>

He and Francis had arrived at Hyde Park and found the perfect place to sit and relax. They'd set everything up, Arthur still wary, and still the sun shone ever brighter.

'You brought _champagne?_ On a picnic?'

Francis shrugged and took out a corkscrew.

'Jeez, you frogs really do love your wine.'

'Do you want a glass?'

Arthur shook his head and wondered whether Francis had thought to brought any tea.

'I know what you're thinking, _mon petit._' Francis grinned and took out a thermos. 'Here.'

Arthur unscrewed the cap, and smiled as the aromatic scent of Earl Grey drifted out. 'Thanks. You really thought of everything, didn't you?'

Francis grinned. 'Of course, _mon amour_. For you, I would do anything.'

Arthur rolled his eyes, and hoped he looked unaffected.

'Cigarette?' Francis asked.

'Thanks.' Arthur took one and waited for the Frenchman to produce a lighter.

Francis lit his own cigarette, and Arthur frowned. 'I didn't know you smoked.'

'Ah, I don't usually. Just sometimes, when I'm calm or upset.'

'Oh, me too,' Arthur said in surprise. Maybe they were more similar than he'd thought? 'May I borrow your lighter?'

Francis put the lighter back in his pocket and leant close, lighting Arthur's cigarette with the tip of his own.

Arthur tried not to stare, but with Francis' face so close it was hard not to. He really did have long eyelashes; when he was looking down as he was now, they grazed his cheekbones.

Francis looked up suddenly, and smirked when he saw Arthur had been staring. Arthur changed the subject hastily before he could comment. 'So, um, I was thinking. Yesterday, you said you wanted to be an architect, right?'

Francis nodded.

'Then, you're interested in architecture?'

'That would obviously follow, yes.'

'OK. Then I know what we're going to do this afternoon.'

* * *

><p>One of Arthur's favourite places in London was Fleet Street.<p>

He'd been only seven years old when his older brother Scott had taken him there for the first time, but Arthur had immediately fallen in love.

They'd wandered along the busy streets as Scott had told him about the underground river or the demon barber of Fleet Street, and made up countless stories about the many statues - especially the one of the dragon, which had always been Arthur's favourite.

Even now that he was older, Arthur still loved Fleet Street. To him, it represented the best of what was quintessentially London - the way everything was different, polar opposites coexisting unchallenged. There was the mix of people, typical English gentlemen walking beside awed foreigners. There were imposing buildings and cars that lined next to swaying trees.

And as he'd decided to show Francis today, there was the extraordinarily diverse architecture that skipped between classical and Gothic, modern and Tudor.

Arthur sneaked a look at the Frenchman, and was pleased to see that he was looking suitably impressed by what he saw. Arthur had called in a favour and managed to get them let into the old Daily Express building, and they were currently in the foyer admiring the gold and silver sunburst ceiling.

_'Zut,' _Francis breathed.

'You haven't seen the half of it,' Arthur said smugly. If things continued as they had been, his bet with Francis would be an easy victory.

Soon Francis seemed to have a new respect for London. He'd been surprisingly focussed and cerebral - except for when they'd walked past the Old Cock Tavern, when Francis had smirked and made a typically inappropriate comment.

'So, still think Paris is better?'

Francis smirked. 'But of course, _mon cher._ You should come with me someday, and I will show you how much so.'

'You wish.'

They arrived at St Paul's station and paused outside to look at the view of the cathedral in the background.

'You really love Fleet Street,' Francis said reflectively. 'Is that why you decided to become a lawyer, _mon cher?'_

Arthur was surprised for a second. The frog could be unexpectedly perceptive sometimes. 'Yeah, that's right. Whenever I used to come here I'd see all the businessmen and the law courts, and I guess I just wanted to be like them someday.'

'Hmmm...' Francis paused thoughtfully.

'You ready to go back now?'

'Ah, _oui.'_

They sat on the tube in silence. Arthur could see that the Frenchman was tired - when he thought about how much he'd prepared for their picnic, it was obvious that Francis hadn't had a lie-in this morning.

But that didn't mean he wasn't shocked when he felt Francis lean against his shoulder, fast asleep. He yelped in surprise and Francis stirred sleepily, leading Arthur to berate himself inwardly for nearly waking him. He sat as still as possible.

After a while, he heard a small sigh, and Francis nuzzled closer. The old lady seated opposite them glared disapprovingly, and Arthur felt himself blush. He wondered whether Francis had woken up, and was just pretending to be asleep to annoy him, and turned his head awkwardly to check.

He was surprised to find that when he wasn't awake, the Frenchman looked unexpectedly innocent. To be honest, Arthur reflected, the bloody frog was almost cute like this, with those damn eyelashes grazing his cheeks, and his lips parted slightly.

Every so often he would sigh and shuffle around, and the scent of lilies would drift towards Arthur.

When they arrived at Notting Hill Gate, it was only reluctantly that Arthur shook Francis awake.

'Francis.'

The Frenchman stirred sleepily, and Arthur prodded him again. 'We're at Notting Hill Gate, we have to change trains.'

'I was asleep?'

Arthur nodded, and Francis smirked.

It wasn't quite so effective since the Frenchman was only half awake, but it was still pretty irritating when Francis said, 'You make a good pillow, _mon amour_. You're very warm and comfortable. Why not make it a permanent thing?'

'Bloody perverted frog.' Arthur muttered, ignoring Francis' laughter. 'I should've just left you.'

'But_ mon cher,_ you love me!'

Conveniently, the doors chose that time to open and Arthur strode out quickly. He chose to ignore the niggling voice at the back of his mind that pointed out he hadn't denied Francis' statement. After all, he'd only done so because it'd be more effort to argue otherwise.

Right?


	5. Chapter 5

A/N - Bugger, these chapters are getting so long! And this is kinda embarrassing as well, because… Just because. I may have to shoot myself because of the humiliation. Oh well…

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><p>When Arthur woke the next morning, the flat was strangely quiet.<p>

Further inspection revealed that this was because other than for Arthur, it was empty.

Francis was inexplicably gone.

For some reason, this discovery made Arthur's gut wrench painfully, almost as if he was upset the Frenchman had left.

He scoffed. As if that was the case. Ever since the stupid frog had turned up and begged to be allowed to stay, all Arthur had wanted was for him to up and leave. And now, he'd got what he'd wanted - Francis was gone, back to France and his old life.

So why was he feeling so alone?

Arthur shook himself and went to put on the kettle.

Suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to him. He didn't know any of Francis' details - other than the name Francis Bonnefoy and the company he worked at, Arthur had no idea how to get in contact with him. If the stupid frog didn't come back of his own accord, they'd never see each other again.

Forgetting his tea, Arthur stomped into the flat's tiny drawing room and snatched up one of the many books from the bookshelves that lined all four of its walls. He threw himself onto the sofa and began to read.

* * *

><p>Although he had missed the first few pages, anger about Francis' sudden departure preventing him from concentrating, Arthur was soon absorbed. The book he'd chosen was the second of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and it was one of his favourites.<p>

A sharp rap on the door shattered the calm. Arthur's heart leaped hopefully as he padded off to open it, but he set his face in a frown. 'Francis, where -' He stopped abruptly.

It wasn't Francis, but someone Arthur had never seen before.

The stranger had the sophisticated air of someone in their mid thirties, but her face was still young. She was impeccably turned out, light makeup skillfully done to enhance her beauty without overcompensating, and was well dressed without looking too formal. A sea-green scarf was loosely knotted around her neck, bringing out the colour of her eyes.

'You are Arthur Kirkland, correct?' She spoke arrogantly with a strong French accent, and glared daggers at Arthur all the while.

'Yes,' Arthur replied, determined to be polite even if she wasn't. 'Sorry, have we met?'

'No.' She replied shortly and swept past Arthur into his flat.

'What's your name?'

'Alice Falque.'

'It's nice to meet you, Miss Falque.'

Miss Falque ignored him, and Arthur struggled to keep his manners. 'Are you here for any particular reason?'

'Where's Francis?'

Arthur glanced at her hand and saw the glitter of a ring. Suddenly, everything fell into place. What had Francis said? _'She was betrothed, and her fiancé was more important than I had thought.'_ This must be the one he'd been talking about, the reason he'd been forced to leave France. 'I don't know,' he said.

'Don't lie to me, Mr Kirkland,' she hissed. 'I know Francis is living with you.'

'He was. He's been gone ever since I woke up.'

Her green eyes narrowed. 'If I find out you have lied to me...'

Arthur's patience ran out. 'Miss Falque, you have no right to accuse me of being a liar, just as you had no right to invite yourself into my home. Either you can be polite, or you may leave.'

'Fine, I'll leave. But first, I need you to give him a message from me. Tell him to come back to France, it's getting so very boring without him.'

Arthur stared. 'Didn't you know? Your fiancé got Francis banished because of his affair with you. He can't go back.'

She laughed scornfully. '_Imbécile! _Francis lied to you.'

'How do you know?' Arthur said defensively.

She scoffed. 'You think I wouldn't have been told if he was banished? Besides, there's no way my fiancé could have found out about us. He has been away for the past few weeks.'

Arthur's thoughts whirled dizzyingly. Why had Francis lied? Why was he staying in London when he could be in Paris, which he supposedly preferred? 'Now that you've told me the message, please leave.' He said firmly. He needed time to think about everything.

She glared at him furiously, but turned and stalked out. The cloying scent of her expensive perfume hung in the air, and Arthur opened a window before returning to his thoughts.

* * *

><p>Arthur quickly gave up on figuring out the bloody frog's motives. Knowing Francis, it'd be something completely obscure and irrational anyway. He returned to reading instead.<p>

Arthur had almost finished the book when he heard the rattle of a key in the lock. He jumped to his feet, wondering who it could be. When he hurried through it was to see Francis step through the door.

'How did you get a key?' Arthur demanded.

'Ah, _mon cher! _I've missed you. To answer your question, I took yours when you were sleeping. You really are a heavy sleeper,_ mon petit.'_

Arthur scowled. 'Where were you all day?'

Francis immediately changed the subject. 'What have you had to eat? I'll get started on making supper.' He tried to slip past Arthur into the kitchen, but Arthur caught his wrist to stop him.

'You're not escaping until you've told me where you were. Didn't you think I'd worry with you suddenly disappearing like that?'

Francis looked startled, and Arthur hoped he wasn't blushing.

'I thought you'd be relieved, _mon petit.'_

'I was,' Arthur said quickly. 'But I was worried too.' Great. Now he was definitely blushing.

'I had an unexpected visitor, so I went to sort a few things out.'

Arthur could see that was the most he was going to get out of Francis. With a flash, he remembered his own unexpected visitor, and what she'd asked him to tell Francis.

'Oh, Francis, today...'

He trailed off.

If Arthur told Francis, he'd go back to France, and Arthur didn't want that to happen. And it wasn't as if Miss Falque had been very polite. Why should he do her a favour? Besides, it was perfectly possible that the 'unexpected visitor' Francis had spoken of was Miss Falque herself.

'Hmmm? What is it, _mon cher?'_

Arthur paused. 'Today, I… Haven't had anything to eat,' he said lamely.

It was true, anyway. He'd been so distracted that he'd completely forgotten about food.

Francis tutted. 'What would you do without me, _mon petit_. All right, I'll make you something.'

He disappeared into the kitchen, but was back in less than a minute looking embarrassed. 'Um, we might have to eat out. After yesterday, there isn't much food left, just some stale bread.'

'If we toast it, it won't taste so bad. And there's some marmite in the cupboard next to the fridge.'

'You can't be serious, _mon cher!'_ Francis looked scandalized. 'You can't nothing all day and then just have stale bread!'

Arthur shrugged. He'd done it often enough before.

'We're going out.' Francis said firmly.

'Alright, I don't mind.'

Francis nodded in satisfaction and turned to go. Arthur hesitated at the door, looking at his umbrella rack. It had been such good weather recently - maybe he wouldn't need an umbrella? He shook his head, and reached for the smallest one, just in case. Better dry than sorry.

* * *

><p>The one thing that had always impressed Arthur about English weather was its uncanny ability to intuit exactly when people wouldn't want it to rain, so that it could open the heavens at that precise moment just to spite them. As it was doing now, just as they'd left the restaurant and begun to walk back.<p>

Of course, Francis couldn't have been expected to know never to leave with out an umbrella. If he'd lived in London for long enough, the words would have inevitably been seared into his skull, but as it was they would have to share the tiny, half broken contraption that Arthur had brought.

They walked awkwardly; being this close to the Frenchman was sending a strange feeling fluttering through Arthur, so he had been trying to keep as far away as possible while still shielding them both from the rain.

Their hands brushed accidentally, and Arthur felt a spark race through him - almost like electricity, but warmer. He subtly scooted further away, ignoring the traitorous pounding of his heart.

_'Mon cher,_ I'm getting wet,' Francis whined.

'Tough. I am too, and it's your own fault for not bringing an umbrella.'

'Why don't we walk closer together?'

'Because you're already too close. I don't want to get some stupid Frog disease.'

Francis laughed and tried to move closer to Arthur.

He cast around desperately for some way to distract the Frenchman. 'Francis? Who was that visitor you had today?'

'No-one important, _mon petit_. Just an acquaintance - Miss Falque.'

Arthur was puzzled. If he'd met Miss Falque, why had he come back? Wouldn't she have told him to come back to France with her?

_'Mon cher?_ Are you alright?'

Arthur blinked. He must have stopped walking, too deep in thought to focus on anything else.

He caught his breath. Francis' face hovered just inches from his own, blue eyes wide and full of concern. Arthur's eyes flickered down to Francis' mouth, temptingly close. He licked his lips.

On an impulse, he leant forwards and closed the distance between them, lightly pressing a kiss to Francis' velvet soft lips.

His eyes fluttered shut, and he sighed softly. Francis' mouth felt so perfect against his own.

Suddenly, Arthur realised what he'd just done. He sprung back in horror. 'Sorry, I -'

He was cut off as Francis tugged him close and kissed him hard. It was nothing like before - their first kiss had been chaste, just a gentle touch.

This was an explosion.

Francis' tongue snaked out to part Arthur's lips, and he tasted the faint bitterness of the coffee Francis loved so much. Arthur heard a breathless moan - had it been him? Francis? It didn't matter.

Then Arthur's mind went blank, and all he could think was that this was Francis, this was _Francis,_ and they were kissing, and it was warmth and it was passion and it was perfect.

They parted unwillingly, dizzy and breathing raggedly.

For a moment, neither moved, then Arthur felt Francis' lips move to his ear. Sharp teeth gently teased the shell, then a featherlight kiss soothed the hurt.

_'Mon amour...'_ He said shakily. _'Je t'aime.'_


	6. Chapter 6

A/N - It's exciting, because something actually happens in this chapter that is plot related. But then it's a little bit disappointing, because the something kinda fails in the end, descending into predictability and general fail. But oh well, here's the new chapter, let's hope it's not too bad.

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><p>Arthur had a lot of time to think the next morning, and he very quickly became furious with himself for kissing Francis.<p>

For one thing, now he would know what he was missing. Francis kissing him back had been… Indescribable. And now Arthur would always be tormented by the knowledge of what could-have-been.

And more importantly, it had forced him to admit that these feelings were more than just friendship. A lot more. Because in hindsight, yesterday had shown him two very important things.

The first was that he was in love with Francis.

Not just physical attraction, or a crush, or indeed anything he'd experienced ever before.

This was full on, can't-live-without-him _love_. The kind Arthur had always thought only existed in fairy-tales, or those idealistic clichés he always used to mock. The kind that almost certainly couldn't just sneak up on a person as quickly as it had Arthur.

It was just plain _unfair_. Because the second thing that Arthur knew was that Francis didn't love him back.

Admittedly, Francis had kissed him, but that didn't mean anything. The stupid frog was a complete and utter pervert - of course he wouldn't have turned down someone throwing themselves at him like that, no matter who it was.

The French bastard flirted with anything that moved, but Arthur had stupidly felt special.

Felt loved.

Unconsciously, he touched his lips, savouring the memory of how Francis had felt.

Because that's all it was now. A memory. A precious memory, to be treasured but never, never repeated. He ignored the wave of sadness that washed over him at this, and focussed instead on regretting and cursing his own stupidity.

Suddenly Arthur blushed, realising with a shock that he was regretting not that they had kissed, but that they hadn't done anything more - since it had been a one time thing, he should have made the most of it.

There was a knock on his bedroom door, and Arthur quickly buried his face in his pillow.

'Arthur? I'm just going shopping...' Francis trailed off, presuming Arthur was asleep.

A few minutes later, the front door closed quietly, and Arthur got up cautiously. He put on the kettle and went to check the post. As usual, there were a tonne of bills and flyers. But at the back of the pile Arthur found a letter addressed by hand in writing that was all too familiar.

It was from his father.

Arthur was immediately filled with dread. His whole family had completely cut him off ever since he'd deviated from their plans for him by going to law school. He hadn't heard from them in almost five years. The fact that they were writing to him meant that he could be almost certain it was bad news.

Arthur shook his head fiercely in an attempt to get rid of the terrible scenarios that his imagination had immediately conjured, but it was to no avail. He opened the envelope with trepidation.

After quickly scanning the letter, all he could do was stare at the neat cursive in disbelief.

The last time he'd spoken to his parents, they'd had an explosive argument about the way they always tried to force a future upon him, rather than letting him do what he wanted. Now they were suggesting an arranged marriage to someone he'd never even heard of?

He shook his head in disbelief. That was the problem with his family. They came from a long line of noblemen, important and rich people with a proud history. And because of it, they lived in the past.

Arthur fetched his fountain pen, trying to compose a reply that was polite but firm in its refusal. He had just finished when something occurred to him.

Now that Arthur had lost his job, his future was uncertain at best. Finding a job in a recession was harder than finding a needle in a haystack. His family was offering to restore his inheritance, to give him the support that he'd thrown away when he'd left them.

And maybe if he married this - he checked the letter quickly - Aurélie Seguin, he might be able to get over his unrequited love. At the very least, he might find some distraction from this constant aching sadness. Besides, either way he wouldn't be able to be with Francis.

Really, it was killing two birds with one stone.

Arthur tore up his original reply, and quickly scrawled a new one, accepting their suggestion. Having finished, he read it through.

Maybe he shouldn't send it just yet. He needed some time to think it through before rushing into a decision that would change the landscape of his future. Sighing, Arthur went to take a shower.

By the time Arthur had finished showering, Francis had returned.

'Oh, you're back.'

The Frenchman didn't reply, just stood rigid, back to Arthur.

'Francis? What...?'

Francis turned slowly, and Arthur saw what was in his hands.

The letter.

Arthur cursed himself for leaving it out. How could he have been such an idiot? More importantly, how much had Francis seen?

Judging from the expression on his face, he had seen enough.

'You're just going to leave?' Francis said with disgust. 'Give up, and crawl back to your family? You told me how you felt about them, back at the cafe!'

'They're still my family, no matter how I feel about them. Besides, what other choice do I have? I have no job, no income. How else am I supposed to live?' Arthur said defensively.

It didn't appease Francis - if anything, it exacerbated his fury. 'What about being a lawyer? Are you just going to marry this, this _Aurélie? _What about - what about everything, or did it just not matter to you?' He spat.

Arthur knew that by everything, Francis meant yesterday, and the kiss. 'It matters! Just... Just not enough. There are more important things than doing what you want and following your dreams. This is how I'll be happy.'

'You told me you'd wanted to be a lawyer practically all your life! There's no way you'd just give up on something that important, or were you just lying when you said it meant a lot to you?'

'This has nothing to do with that!' Arthur snapped. 'Besides, you're one to talk. You've been lying to me right from the beginning, when you told me you'd been banished from France! You were just using me to run away from that stupid Falque lady.'

Francis stared at him in shock. At any other time, Arthur would have laughed at his expression. 'She came over yesterday morning, when you were gone.' He explained.

'And you didn't tell me?'

Arthur laughed bitterly. 'Why should I have? She was rude, and I'm not some errand boy to carry messages to your stupid lover. Anyway, you told me yourself that she was the unexpected visitor you mentioned when you got back. In which case she would have told you herself.'

'She isn't my lover! And you should have at least told me she'd visited. What if she'd been trying to tell me something important? Would you have even told me if you had found out that she wasn't my visitor after all?'

'No, I wouldn't have! If it had been so imperative that you know, she would have found you, rather than entrusting the message to someone she'd only just met.'

Francis glared at him, but couldn't make a rejoinder.

Suddenly, Arthur remembered something. 'She told me to tell you to return to France. If you met her, she must have told you herself. Why did you come back here to stay with me instead?'

Francis looked away in embarrassment, and Arthur noticed something in surprise. Was Francis _blushing?_

'Fine. If that's what you want, I'll go. You go back to your family, and I'll go back to France. Back to Alice. We don't have to see each other ever again!'

Arthur could see Francis was daring him to admit he was wrong, to cave and say he was sorry, but he wasn't going to back down. He lifted his chin. 'Fine!'

He turned and stalked out angrily, missing the look of utter shock and despair on Francis' face. A few minutes later, Arthur had thrown as many of his possessions as he thought he would need into a case, and, still simmering, left his flat.

For the first time in forever, Arthur was going home.

* * *

><p>As he jolted around in the train, all Arthur could think about was how bad a decision this was. All the reasons why he'd left in the first place circled tormentingly through his thoughts. And then there was Francis; only an idiot would run away from the person they loved the most. But Arthur's pride wouldn't let him go back.<p>

He arrived home a little before midnight and he was welcomed not by his family, but by a maid. That couldn't be a good sign.

'You must be Master Kirkland. Right this way, sir.' She bobbed a curtsy and scurried off, leading him to his old bedroom.

Arthur was pleased to see that his room had been kept in almost the same condition that he'd left it in. There was even a small vase of flowers on the table beside his bed. His family was obviously trying to make up with him, and he wasn't going to ruin that by dwelling on the past, and especially not on Francis.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being stupid. Francis may not have loved him, but that didn't mean he should have run away.

Arthur frowned. He needed to stop thinking about Francis. What was done was done. He quickly got ready for bed, and was soon fast asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N - This is just a relatively short chapter, because it doesn't really feature Francis in it and that makes it less interesting. But it does have more about Arthur's family, and hopefully it clears a couple things up ^^

Happy Friday the 13th!

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><p>Arthur was woken at nine o'clock by the same maid who had greeted him upon his arrival. He dressed smartly, correctly anticipating that his parents wouldn't be impressed were he to turn up in casual clothes.<p>

When he sat down for breakfast, Scott was the only one to give Arthur a tiny smile. With a pang, Arthur realised how much he'd missed his big brother. Scott had always been his ally, the only one he could depend on to support him no matter what happened.

After Arthur had left, Scott had ignored him for so long that he'd just given up. It was a relief to know that he'd been forgiven.

There was an uncomfortable silence as they ate, the only sound being the rustle of his father's newspaper. Arthur suppressed a sigh. He'd only been back for a couple of hours, but he already missed his home so much. With Francis around, it had never been quiet for long. There had always been so much noise and vibrancy and _life_. Arthur had loved that.

Eventually, Arthur couldn't bear the silence. 'Thank you for the flowers, mother.'

'What are you talking about, darling? Which flowers?'

Arthur frowned. 'The ones in my bedroom. Were they not from you?'

'No, the maid must have put them there. I've been so busy recently that I haven't had much time for that sort of thing.'

'Oh.' Arthur sipped his tea awkwardly. This definitely wasn't going so well as he'd hoped.

* * *

><p>Arthur fled to the library as soon as was polite. There he planned to stay until four, when his family would take afternoon tea. In the meantime, he needed some time to think. There were a few things he didn't understand.<p>

Firstly, there was the fact that Francis had lied in the first place. What was the point of making up such an elaborate excuse as to why he had to stay with Arthur? If he was that desperate to live in London, couldn't he have just bought his own flat here?

He quickly gave up on figuring this one out, and moved on to the second puzzle. Since Francis had met with Miss Falque, he would have known that she wanted him to return to France with her. Of course, it was perfectly likely that he'd refused to do so because he was trying to avoid her. But when Arthur had mentioned this, Francis hadn't confirmed it. Instead he'd blushed and avoided the question.

Why had he blushed?

But before he could figure anything out, Arthur was interrupted by Scott coming and finding him.

'Why did you come back?'

'Did you not want me to?' Arthur asked, hurt. 'I missed you.'

'It's not that. You have to understand, Artie, I was so proud of you when you left to chase your dreams! I just didn't think you would give up and come back, especially when they suggested an arranged marriage. You've never met this girl! For all you know, she could be _hideous.'_

Arthur sighed. 'I know, Scott. But so much has happened recently...'

He told Scott about everything - getting fired, falling in love - only neglecting the fact that the person he'd fallen for was a man.

Scott whistled. 'Damn, Artie. That's some bad luck!'

'I know. I was so happy with my job. Mr Edelstein was -'

'Wait, stop. Did you say Mr _Edelstein?'_

Arthur nodded, puzzled.

'Is his first name Roderich?'

He nodded again. 'How did you know?'

'I - God, Artie, I don't know how to tell you this.'

'Tell me what?' Arthur urged. 'What is it?'

Scott shifted awkwardly. 'Well, a few days ago, I overheard father on the phone with someone, threatening them. It didn't sound nice, so I asked mother what the person had done. And mother said that it was important that Mr Edelstein understood his position.'

Arthur felt his knees go weak. 'You mean I was fired because _my own parents_ blackmailed my boss?'

'I don't think it was their idea though,' Scott said hastily. 'There was this French lady who visited us the day before that. It was her who suggested your fiancée. Anyway, it was her who first mentioned Mr Edelstein; before she came, none of us knew anything about where you were, or how you were.'

Scott was silent a moment as Arthur digested this, then he went on, voice level but with an undercurrent of hurt. 'That reminds me, why didn't you contact me, Artie? I know you must have been busy, but not even a single phone call?'

'I tried to! I called home twice, and both times mother said you didn't want to talk to me. So I emailed you, and you still didn't reply. I sent you letters, and a Christmas card, and a birthday present. Then after a year, I gave up.'

'I had to delete my email account, someone hacked it. And I didn't get any of the calls, or letters. Do you think our parents could have intercepted them?'

'If they're low enough for blackmail, I wouldn't put it past them,' Arthur said in disgust. He laughed bitterly. 'I can't believe I was foolish enough to think they wanted to make amends.'

Suddenly, he heard the click of his mother's high heels against the wooden floor. Her voice floated towards them. 'Scott, Arthur!'

Arthur felt a surge of anger. Scott put a hand on his arm soothingly. 'Artie -'

He shook him off and rounded on his mother. 'It was you. You got me fired. What did you do that for?'

His mother looked at him in shock, but recovered quickly, face smoothing into its usual calm mask.

'Arthur dear, don't end your sentences on a preposition.'

'I don't care about bloody grammar or the etiquette of speech! I just want to know why you would do something like that. I was happy! I was making a life for myself, and you ruined all of that!'

'You must understand, we had to! This family has a _reputation -'_

'A reputation that's more important than your son's happiness? Besides, you'd already disowned me. How does getting me fired change that? It's just petty revenge because I didn't do what you wanted me to.'

His mother struggled for words. When she finally spoke, it was just one word, and not in her usual clipped tone. 'Because...'

Then she hesitated and bowed her head.

Arthur's anger petered out. Now he was just weary. 'I'm going home.'

'But Arthur, this is your home!'

'No, it's not. It hasn't been for ages, not since I left five years ago, and I don't think it will be ever again. Goodbye, mother.'

He turned to Scott. 'It's been nice to talk with you again, even if it was only briefly.' He smiled, and offered his hand to shake. 'I'll see you soon, yeah?'

'Hope so. Make it good, Artie.'

Arthur grinned, recognising the words from the conversation they'd had before he'd left last time. 'You bet I will.'

Then, for the second time in his life, Arthur walked away from the only family he had. He was lonely, and things were uncertain at best, but he smiled. The future was his.

And this time, Arthur Kirkland really was going to make it good.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N - The penultimate chapter~ Thanks to everyone who has reviewed or subscribed or favourited or generally had any interest at all, and I hope you guys enjoy! Also, PLEASE can someone write some more good FrUK ? There is nowhere NEAR enough.

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><p>It felt so good to wake up in his own bed, in his own flat, that Arthur could almost ignore how empty it felt.<p>

Francis really had gone. Not just temporarily disappeared like last time, possibly to return at some point. Gone forever.

Arthur scowled, and tried to ignore the way his gut wrenched painfully whenever he thought about it. He stood up and made his way to the kitchen to get breakfast. But after charring his third piece of toast, Arthur finally gave up and admitted it. He couldn't focus on anything - all he could think about was that idiot Francis. Everything just felt so damn _wrong_ without the bloody frog.

Maybe if he left his apartment, he wouldn't be reminded constantly of the Frenchman. Arthur nodded confidently. Yes, that was it. He'd go on a walk, clear his head. And then he'd come back and get on with his normal life like nothing had happened, as if he'd never met Francis.

* * *

><p>Arthur stared up in horror.<p>

For some reason, his feet had betrayed him, and taken him somewhere which would be sure to remind him of Francis.

The stupid cafe.

Should he go in? It was a bad idea, and he knew it was. But for some reason, he couldn't turn away - just stood outside wistfully, letting all those happy memories play out. Eventually, he gave up and entered. He made his way over to a table - of course, it was purely coincidental that it just happened to be the same one they'd sat at together last time - and stopped dead in his tracks.

It was unmistakeable. Sitting with his back to him was none other than Francis. He was inexplicably sitting hunched over in this tiny London cafe, nowhere near Paris - not even on his way to France.

'Francis?' Arthur said disbelievingly.

Francis whirled around. The expression of pure happiness on his face was quickly covered with indifference, but Arthur was sure he hadn't imagined it. 'Um, can I sit?'

Francis nodded, so he sat down awkwardly. 'I thought you would have gone back to Paris by now.'

'I thought you would have gone back home.'

'I did.'

There was a pause.

'And?'

'It was a mistake.'

'Ah.'

The silence stretched out, then Francis stood. 'I should be off.'

'Wait!'

Before he could leave, Arthur grabbed his wrist.

Francis looked down at him in surprise, and Arthur reddened, realising how stupid that must have been. He didn't even have a reason for doing so, just that he knew he didn't want Francis to leave yet. 'Um, I...' He tailed off, searching for an excuse.

Suddenly, he knew what he wanted to say. After all, he'd already humiliated himself beyond caring about embarrassment. And Francis was going to leave either way - he might as well get some closure. Maybe then it'd be easier for him to give up and go on with his life.

'I love you,' he blurted.

Francis gaped at him in astonishment.

_'Quoi?'_

Arthur felt his face flame with embarrassment, but he was determined to say this. 'I said I love you, you French bastard.'

What Francis did next surprised Arthur to no end. He'd expected a laugh, or a smirk at least. Instead, Francis threw a £20 note onto the table, pulled Arthur to his feet, and yanked him out of the cafe before he'd even had time to realise what was going on.

They turned down an empty side alley, and then Francis spun around and pushed Arthur against the wall, trapping him between his arms.

'Say it again, _mon amour.'_

'Huh?'

'Say it again.'

'Dammit, Francis, how deaf are you? I said, I love you!'

Barely had the words left his lips, when Francis pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

'Francis, what-!'

Arthur was confused. Was this how Francis was going to get back at him? By raising his hopes, only to tell him that Arthur meant nothing to him? He tried to wriggle free.

Francis only laughed in exhilaration, and held on tighter. 'Oh, _mon petit_. I've waited so long to hear you say that, do you seriously think I'll let you run away now?'

'Wh-what?'

'I told you, did I not? _Je t'aime, mon amour._ So much, you can't even begin to understand.'

Arthur's head whirled with happiness as the words sunk in. 'You mean you were serious back then?'

Francis drew back in astonishment. 'You thought I wasn't? Arthur, I may be a flirt, but there are some things you don't say unless you mean them.'

The world shifted crazily, and something inside Arthur leaped hopefully. He struggled to ignore it and speak rationally. Arthur wasn't sure if he could bear it if he let himself be overwhelmed with happiness only to find out it had been a misunderstanding. 'Then... You love me?'

Francis nodded fervently. _'Mon cher, _I have loved you for so long. Why else would I flirt with you so persistently? Even I know when someone isn't interested.'

'I thought you just liked the challenge, or something.'

'No.' He gazed earnestly at Arthur, blue eyes intense with emotion, and his heart skipped. 'Only you, _mon amour.'_

Then they were kissing, and everything else melted away.

Their mouths moved as one, Francis' lips warm and velvet soft and so perfect against his own. It was everything their last kiss had been, and more. Where their last kiss had been hope and anxiety, this one was a promise of forever.

The scent of lilies washed over him, heady and intoxicating. Arthur reached up to card his fingers through Francis' fine golden hair, and in response Francis pressed closer, pushing him hard against the brick wall. It should have hurt, but all Arthur could think was that this was_ incredible._

They stopped to breathe, but didn't break apart. Francis was trembling slightly, and he still hugged Arthur so tight, as if scared he was going to run off. Arthur smiled and tugged Francis' hair lightly - not to hurt him, just to point out that he was here and he wasn't going anywhere.

Francis sighed and relaxed slightly. He held Arthur close as ever, but less forcefully, hands clasped loosely around his back. They stayed like that for a while, then Francis drew back and trailed a thousand tiny butterfly kisses up Arthur's neck and along his jaw, stopping at the corner of his mouth.

'Francis, I'm sorry.' Arthur said breathlessly. 'What I said before, that it didn't mean enough - I was scared. After all, you're a flirt and a perv, I thought...'

Francis blinked innocently. 'Me? A pervert? _Mon petit,_ if I was a pervert you would be naked and moaning my name right now.'

Arthur blushed. 'We're in a public alley, Francis. Anyone could walk by and see us. There's no way we'd be doing something like that!'

'Oh?' Francis pushed his leg in between Arthur's, and heat spread throughout his body. 'You're sure, _mon cher?'_ He purred, slipping a hand under Arthur's shirt to trace burning patterns on Arthur's bare skin.

Before he could stop it, Arthur made a small whimpering noise in the back of his throat. He tried to cover it with a cough, but Francis smirked and he knew he hadn't been successful.

'Bastard,' he muttered. Francis just laughed. 'Oh, sod it. Let's go back to the flat, or are you determined to prove me wrong by doing this right here in the street?'

'Well,' Francis mused.

'God dammit, why did I have to fall in love with an exhibitionist?'

'Love you too, _mon petit.'_

Before he could stop it, Arthur's lips quirked up in a smile. He'd never thought he would hear Francis say those words, and now that he did Arthur's heart accelerated like it would explode.

He quickly kissed Francis on the cheek, and they headed back home.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N - Yeah, this is the last chapter, and it isn't all that exciting, just some tying-up-loose-ends rubbish, so sorry about that. And it's Francis' POV. Thanks again to reviewers, favouriters, and all readers!

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><p>They walked back slowly. Francis took Arthur's hand, but the other man just blushed and shoved his hands in his pockets, saying, 'Someone could see!'<p>

Francis smirked. He considered guilting Arthur into holding hands, but stopped when he saw Arthur's brow furrow in confusion.

He'd always loved the way Arthur showed his emotions so clearly on his face. There was no deception with Arthur - he was always honest. That was why Francis had been so heartbroken when Arthur had told him that their kiss had meant nothing to him.

'What are you thinking about,_ mon amour?'_

'It's just, there are a couple of things that still don't make sense. I've already tried to work them out, but I still don't understand.'

Francis stifled a laugh. Knowing Arthur, he would have spent hours trying to puzzle them out, over-thinking and generally confusing himself even more.

He went on. 'You met Miss Falque, so why didn't you go back with her? If it was because you were avoiding her, then why? She was your lover, and if her fiancé hadn't found out about the two of you, why would you want to stay away from her?'

_'Mon petit,_ the answer is very obvious. I would have thought that even someone like you could work it out.'

Arthur glared angrily. 'It isn't that obvious! Can't you just tell me?'

'Think about it, _mon cher_.' He laughed. 'Of course, it was because I wanted to stay with you in London. Remember, I'm in love with you.'

Francis saw Arthur's green eyes light up in happiness when he said this, and felt a thrill run through him. When he'd come to London, he'd never even dared to hope that his Arthur might feel the same way, but here they were.

'That's right,' Arthur said to himself happily. He turned back to Francis. 'Also, why did you make up that elaborate excuse as to why you had to stay with me? You're rich enough to buy your own flat here.'

'Well, there were several reasons really. Part of it was just to see if I could. I knew you were gullible,_ mon petit, _but I didn't know exactly how gullible.'

'So you concocted some rubbish about sleeping with an aristocrat's betrothed and getting banished as a _test _of my gullibility?'

Francis nodded sheepishly. 'But, it was based on the truth. Alice and I were lovers, but her fiancé never found out.'

'OK. But why did you lie about having no money? Or was that true?'

'No, that was a lie too. But you should have realised that one, really. How did you think I bought things when I went shopping?'

'I guess I just didn't really think about it...' Arthur blushed.

'Ah, _mon amour_, you are too adorable.'

'Sh-Shut up!'

'It was because I needed an excuse to live with you. If I'd asked if I could stay with you because I wanted to, what would you have said?'

'Definitely no,' Arthur admitted.

'Which leads me to the main reason for I came to London - because I wanted to spend time with you. Which, in case you hadn't gathered, is because I love you.'

'Oh...'

'Now it's my turn. Why did you leave your family and come back?'

Arthur's expression of happiness vanished, and he laughed bitterly. 'I thought they were trying to make amends for what happened before when they disowned me, that we'd just go back to being a family. It turned out that Miss Falque had told my parents where I worked, so they put pressure on Mr Edelstein until he fired me. They were trying to force me to depend on them so that they could marry me off and restore the family honour.'

Francis clenched his fists angrily. How could anyone do that to their own family, especially to someone like Arthur? 'I'm sorry, cher.'

'Don't worry about it. It's in the past now,' Arthur said, darting a furtive look at Francis.

It began to rain. Francis triumphantly took out his umbrella.

'Share,' Arthur commanded.

'You forgot an umbrella, _mon cher?_ You must have been distracted.'

Arthur scowled and avoided his gaze.

'Could it be that you were distracted because you were thinking of me?' Francis asked in amusement.

Arthur scowled but didn't deny it. 'Just shut up and share.'

_'D'accord,'_ Francis said happily. Although it meant that he would probably get wet, the fact that Arthur had forgotten his umbrella gave him the perfect excuse to walk close beside him.

'Oh, that reminds me.' Arthur said hastily. 'Our bet. It's the end of the week. London or Paris?'

Francis could see that Arthur was nervous about this. He obviously loved London a lot, and while Francis knew he would keep to his word and honour the bet, he didn't want to force him to live in Paris when he didn't even speak french.

He pretended to be thinking, watching the anxiety build in Arthur's green eyes. He tried not to smile. Arthur looked so cute when he was nervous.

'Well, the weather in London is always so rainy.'

'Yes, but isn't that a good thing?' Arthur said desperately. 'It's nice, and refreshing.'

Francis took Arthur's hand.

'What are you doing?' Arthur yelped. 'Someone could see!'

Francis ignored him. 'But _mon amour,_ they won't. With the umbrella here like this, no-one can see. Besides, no-one looks too closely when it's raining.'

Arthur opened his mouth, but couldn't respond. Francis smirked. 'You know, I think maybe you're right.'

'Of course I am!' Arthur hesitated. 'About what?'

'Well, _mon cher,_ in Paris, it is always sunny. So you would refuse to let us hold hands,_ n'est pas?'_

Arthur nodded, and Francis sighed theatrically.

'In that case, I have lost. London is better.'

Arthur was silent for a moment, then Francis felt warm fingers curl round his own.

'You still don't have any money, do you?'

'What? No, I told you -'

'So you can't buy your own flat.'

Francis caught on. 'Exactly. I shall be homeless.'

'That doesn't seem fair. You are irritating, but since there's no other option, I suppose you can stay with me.'

'Thank you, _mon amour.'_

Arthur squeezed his hand gently. 'Don't worry about it. After all, even though you're an annoying frog, you're _my_ annoying frog.'


End file.
